


Thoughts.

by whatsupshur



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Miles has flashbacks, Smoking Miles, Waylon isn't married, there will be tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 06:10:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9421988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsupshur/pseuds/whatsupshur
Summary: Isn't it weird how some woundsnevermanage to heal?Miles knew this phenomenon all too fucking well.Therapy session, after therapy session. Numerous psychologists. Protection plans, which never gave that oh so desirable sense of security.He had lost everything -notincluding his fingers, but he was still pissed about that.He lost his home. His job. His sanity. He lost the shine in his eyes. He lost his sense of purpose.The only time he was ever able to find these things was when he reflected his soul uponhisWaylonFuckingPark. Forever a blessing upon Miles' shit excuse for a life.





	

Staring up towards the peeling plaster that clung desperately onto the ceiling, Miles let out a loud sigh.

The room was silent, but all he could hear was screaming. Screams of pain and terror. Screams that felt like knives stabbing through his skull.

Screams that _wouldn't_ fucking stop.

He had tried time and time again to drown them out, but his countless efforts all resulted in the same thing. Failure. 

The only thing - or _person_ \- that was able to give him a small sense of closure was Waylon.

All of the shit resulted in one good thing, at least. 

But he knew, at the bottom of his heart, that this was only a temporary sense of happiness. He knew that Waylon would move on, find better. Find a person who doesn't cry at night, who isn't scared of the dark and who has _a full set of **fucking** fingers. _

Somebody like Lisa.

Waylon had told Miles numerous times before that he didn't love Lisa anymore. 

Miles never believed him. The small fragment of trust that he had in Waylon never allowed him to believe something so preposterous. 

"Mhmph.." A soft voice brought him out of his thoughts. Quickly staring down at the smaller male who lay beside him, slightly relieved to see that he was asleep. 

Unlike Miles, Waylon could sleep. Waylon could grow stronger and move past what had happened to him.

Waylon was strong. 

A scowl set over his features as he thought this, as he thought about... everything. 

_Fear. That's the only emotion that was running through the males body, coursing through his veins. His entire form shook with horror. He tried and tried with all his might, but he couldn't pull his arms from the wheelchairs tight binds._

_He wasn't alone. Oh no. An older gentleman was far too busy going on with himself about religion, murder, insanity and many other things that Miles was too preoccupied to listen to. The older gentleman was once a doctor, doctor Trager. Due to this fact, he had numerous surgical items - which, for some reason, he was trying to test out on Miles._

_Knifes, blades, machetes were all tossed aside until he returned with a large pair of scissors. Clippers of some form._

_Miles couldn't escape, he was going to die here. He knew it._

_Trager grabbed onto his hand - staring down at the males fingers through his eyeglass. Suddenly putting his pointer finger in between the two blades and pushing down with force--_

__

He shuddered. Staring towards his two hands, which both consisted of a mutilated finger each.

He hated nights like this. Nights were the dark memories plagued his mind whilst Waylon was able to sleep like a baby.

 _'Stop thinking, Miles..'_ He thinks to himself, hesitantly moving a hand to carefully graze a finger across Waylon's pale face. The action alone was enough to make the other roll over - facing the wall now. 

_Staring, wide-eyed into the dark, void 'face' that was in front of him, Miles had the urge to scream. Yell. Plead and cry for help. But, he was unable to, instead he remained silent and helpless as he was lifted higher and higher up into the air. Until, the beings grip on him was no longer felt. Until, he felt himself barrelling downwards from the air. Until-_

__

"Miles..." A soft voice lured him out of his thoughts once again. _'Shit. I woke him.'_

"Uh.. yeah?" He hesitantly responds, feeling the weight shift on the bed as Waylon turned over again. Moving closer to him, until they were both pressed together. 

"Stop thinking... You know it doesn't help..." He spoke quietly, staring up at Miles' face with bright blue eyes. 

Something about those blue eyes never failed to soothe Miles. They never failed to remind him that, he still had _something._ That going into the asylum gave him something. 

He felt Waylon bury his head into his loose-fitting shirt. Obviously ignoring the faint musk of smoke, the scent that clung to him like spider to a web. 

Smoking was one of the many things Miles started to try and give himself a sense of relief - it worked, at first. But, like most things it inevitably failed on hi- 

"Miles!" The same voice called out, louder now.

"Huh? Oh, sorry..." He responsed in a low, gruff voice.

"Don't... don't think about it... you're out of there now... we're out of there now..." As Waylon quietly spoke, in obvious attempts to calm him, he slowly sat up. Moving closer to Miles and leaning against him.

The gesture wasn't much, but it was enough. 

Dark thoughts being lulled out of his mind with Waylon's gentle words.

He hadn't fully made it yet, but slowly he was healing.

Slowly.


End file.
